Of Two Kings
by maitimo.nelyafinwe
Summary: Fingon makes a desperate attempt to heal the Noldor, and to heal a friendship which has been sundered by the ill conceived oath of Feanor. More comes of his reunion with Maedhros than anyone expected. Warning: Slash, mpreg, violence
1. My Brother's Keeper

A/N: I've had a lot of complaints for this story, because no one seems to know who I'm talking about when I address the sons of Fëanor. The Silmarillion gave the altered names as such: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. This is listed from oldest to youngest. Amrod and Amras were twins, though Amras was apparently born last. These are Sindarin forms of their mother-names. Their father-names, which, in a sense, are their proper titles, are as follows: Nelyafinwë (equivalent to Finwë III), Kanafinwë, Turkafinwe, Morifinwë ("dark Finwë"), Kurufinwë ("son of Finwë"), Pityafinwë ("little Finwë"), and Telufinwë ("last Finwë"). In this story, I have used neither of these forms of the brother's names, but their mother names were Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Atarinkë, Ambarusso, and Ambarusso. At Fëanor's urging, Nerdanel renamed the youngest twin Umbarto, meaning "fated". Fëanor promptly took matters into his own hands and changed the name to Ambarto, meaning "exalted". In an earlier version of the tale of Fëanor's kin, the name Umbarto came back into play, because his youngest son had been asleep on his ship when Feanor burnt the ships at Losgar, burning the aptly named son along with the ship. Other Quenya names are used, as well, in an attempt to preserve Tolkien's intention for each character's many names. The Noldor use only Quenya names, even in Middle-earth. Albeit, the language was outlawed, they are in their own territory, and my do as they please (Thingol in Doriath had been the one to outlaw Quenya). Therefore, Fëanor is changed to Fëanáro, Fingolfin remains unaltered and his wife is called Anairë (she was obscure), whereas Fingon is changed to Findekáno, Turgon to Turukáno, Aredhel to Irissë, and Argon (an obscure son of Fingolfin) to Arakáno. The Noldor observe Fëanor's wish and refuse to mention the name of Melkor, rather calling him Morgoth, but characters such as Sauron obviously do not observe this. Lastly, I was questioned on a point at which Morgoth calls Maedhros (Maitimo) by the name Russandol. This was an affectionate nickname given to him in Tirion by his family, presumably his mother in particular, meaning "copper-top." (Maitimo means "well-formed", and the Sindarin Maedhros was a blending of these two names, meaning "well-formed copper.") Please note that it's been a while since I read The Silmarillion or any of the supplementary material, so please feel free to drop me a line and correct me if you find any mistakes or inconsistencies. Special thanks to Matt Massey, my saviour, who inspired this love story between two strong men.

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I. My Brother's Keeper 

Slowly at first Maitimo came to consciousness, and then he rose with a jolt, thinking himself to have fallen under during battle and expecting that the fighting raged still. But when he saw that all around him was quiet, his dread grew immeasurably. About his wrists and ankles were harsh iron manacles and he could not move far from the corner of the cell in which he was contained. His clothes were damp and torn and all his weapons were gone. Sharp, Elven ears caught the sound of a ravaged scream as it echoed through the cavernous dungeon and his breathing sped and he strained futilely against the chains, though his untended wounds protested violently. Just as he mastered himself, he heard footsteps drawing near. Some were stumbling and inconstant, and yet one was barely heard against the stone floor, taking longer strides than the rest.

Torchlight illuminated the bruised face of Fëanáro's son as an Orc leaned in close to remove the manacles from the wall. Maitimo stood as the Orc hauled him up, and found his knees weakening with fear as a young lieutenant approached. Despite this, he stood tall, knowing this man for Sauron, a feared Maia and a faithful and deadly servant of Morgoth. A black-gloved hand lifted his chin roughly, and cold, fiery eyes surveyed him critically. A chill passed through Maitimo's body at the touch, aching like ice amid the intense heat of the dungeons. "A son of Fëanáro, doubtless," Sauron smiled, his face seeming fair. "What a bright flame you bear, child." He motioned to the Orcs, and they withdrew their blades and prodded Maitimo forward, toward a twisted flight of stairs at the end of the narrow hallway which bore his cell. It seemed that they walked for miles, until, at last, he came before Morgoth, who flaunted the Silmarils before him, and awoke in him the anger of his father. In the following months, Maitimo was a formidable adversary to all who came near him. Soon though, burdened by unbearable physical torture and being in an evil place without light or hope, the spirit of Maitimo began to weaken at last.

Tension ran high in Hithlum. The Noldor debated heatedly in the absence of their High King, until Makalaurë, Fëanáro's second son, took up the provisional duties; and all slowly began to accept that Maitimo was lost to them. However, fate was as unkind as ever and the sons of Fëanáro were again put at unrest. An emissary from Angband reported that Maitimo's life and liberty would be willingly spared, should the Noldor forsake Beleriand and the sons of Fëanáro their oath. Makalaurë was put at odds with most of his brothers, wishing not to forsake Maitimo to torture and imprisonment. With Morgoth's fair-seeming offer in mind, they retreated to private council.

"To venture into Morgoth's stronghold is naught but folly!" Carnistir spat, unwilling to have done so much as hear the ambassadors of the Enemy.

"I must side with Carnistir," said Atarinke. "Maitimo would never have risked the lives of many for any one of us. Why should we do so for him? I shall lead no host of mine into Angband's halls for one Elf, though he be the Lord of all the Noldor!"

"And I say to the Void with the Noldor's King, for this is our brother!" Makalaurë cried, and though his words were passionate, his tone remained gentle and lyrical. "Morgoth demands reply on the morrow, and dawn is nigh at hand. We have debated this before, brothers, when he was first lost to us. Why must we be always divided? I beseech you all; if you will not think of our brother, then think of Fëanáro! Would we not have done the same for our father, and he for any of us?"

"Our father would have been mindful of his oath!" spoke Tyelkormo. "Let us not forget that he died true to the doom that he made for himself, and any of his sons should be as willing to do so. Did our brother not share in this oath, of his own will? My eyes, at least, saw his sword raised with ours that day and the eyes of all the Valar saw as well, I deem."

"Is that what we shall do, then? Shall we all lie hear in wait, and make war upon all until we are all without our lives? Shall we forsake our loved ones for our father's treasures? The theft of earthly treasure should not warrant war, but the life of a brother might well be of more value!"

Carnistir spoke again, and he raised his voice above Makalaurë's in anger. "We shall not make open war upon Morgoth...not for even our brother's life." he hissed vehemently.

"The war is already made!" Ambarto shouted suddenly, standing from his seat in outrage and turned upon Carnistir. "And our doom is made with it. Curb your tongue and learn love for your kin, Carnistir! What opposition have you ever made to battle? Were I you, I would not worry for dirtying your hands with Orc-blood, but instead staining them with the blood of yet another of our kin!"

As Ambarto's voice rose to a greater volume and passion Carnistir started violently for him, and Ambarto did not withhold his wrath, either. Ambarusso and Makalaurë stepped between their brothers protectively, holding them away from each other's throats.

"Peace, brothers! Peace!" cried Ambarusso, gaining the upper hand against his rage-stricken twin and forcing him back into his chair.

Carnistir continued, his voice quieter as Ambarusso, worn thin, stepped aside to take a few generous sips of wine. "I wish not to damn Maitimo, for I love him and am bound to him by blood. Bless him, wherever he may be; but Morgoth asks that we forsake our quarrels with him and forsake also our lands in Beleriand for his life."

"What are lands? Are they more than flesh and blood?" Makalaurë muttered. Carnistir continued as if he had not heard.

"That I might well do for love of my brother, but it is without hope! Morgoth shall betray us as ever he has and torture and slay Maitimo despite our compliance, and you all know this, for you have seen it with your own eyes. Trust that Maitimo knows this as well! We, the sons of Fëanáro, would do well also to remember our oath. For no cause, not even this one, shall we forsake our war against he who holds the Silmarils!"

Makalaurë spoke, his voice quavering. "Then we leave him to his fate. He is strong of will and body, and my heart foretells that he shall walk free from Angband, someday, though he shall pass through much anguish ere that day comes. But now, brothers, we shall be doubly cursed, for always shall we remember how we never forsook our greedy war, but rather, our brother. The sun is rising. I shall deliver this reply to Morgoth's emissaries."

Maitimo woke from a troubled sleep to the sound of harsh laughter. He sat up, hindered by the weight of the chains, and drew his knees up to his chest, for they had removed his clothing to destroy the last of his pride. Seeing him rise, a captain turned to him and smiled crookedly. He approached and crouched beside Maitimo, who did not look at him. "How do like that, little Elf? Your friends won't do nothing' to set you free. They've forgotten you."

Breathing laboured, Maitimo raised his eyes to meet those of the captain, who seemed to flinch noticeably beneath his still-bright gaze. "They are wise, then. Morgoth is a fool to dangle me as bait. I'm unpleasant to those who love me. I bring them grief, I think." Maitimo laughed a quiet, wicked laugh that spoke of ill-use and pain. "Imagine what I shall bring you, someday."

The captain took an involuntary step backward. Regaining his composure, the captain spat in Maitimo's face and struck him violently, drawing blood just below the Elf's eye. Maitimo spat back, cursing him in the tongue of the Eldar, his bloodshot eyes shining insanely, and his full lips cracked and sticky with blood. The captain rose, sneering, and as Maitimo persisted, he raised his iron boot and landed a cruel kick in the Elf's crotch. Maitimo doubled over and was overcome by a spasm of pain, but his curse turned only stronger, and he spoke it louder, so that it disquieted all the servants of Morgoth who heard it, for it was evil to their ears. He stormed away, and said to the guards in the doorway as he retreated, "Quiet him down. I don't care what you do, so long as you don't kill him. Whip him, burn him, beat him; fuck the pretty bastard for all I care. Have your fun, boys."

Findekáno woke in the early hours of the morning, sensing something amiss. His father Fingolfin lay near him, seeming to sleep deeply, wearied by all that had come to pass. That day, they had successfully driven back the forces of Angband, but, tired as they were from the crossing of Helcaraxë and the long march afterward, Fingolfin had ordered that they retreat into the shelter of the Mountains of Shadow, into Hithlum. Sitting up quietly, Findekáno ran his fingers through his long, tangled tresses, anxiously working little knots free from it, until, after a few minutes, he sighed deeply and dropped his hands into his lap. They were scarred and chapped from the cold and toil they had endured. Findekáno shivered at the memory of the ice.

Wrapping a tunic about himself, Findekáno strode across their camp to a small pavilion, for he wished to speak with Makalaurë, his kinsman. Upon entering the camp at Hithlum, he had slept straightaway, exhausted, and left his father to vent his wrath upon the sons of Fëanáro in private. He had hoped secretly that Maitimo had not taken much part in the decision to abandon his father's people to cross Helcaraxë, and that all the sons of Fëanáro had repented of the deed, for he would certainly forgive them, as would his father, in time.

Looking silently into the pavilion, he beheld a woeful sight. Makalaurë, head bowed and shoulders quivering with grief, leaned heavily on one of the pavilion's supports.

"My Lord?" he said softly. "Makalaurë?"

Makalaurë looked up, and, seeing Findekáno in the doorway his face turned from sorrow to shame. He stood, and, much to the surprise of Fingolfin's son he bowed low, and approached him, eyes downcast. "I repent of my deeds, kinsman. The sons of Fëanáro have wronged you indeed. I will not say that I simply followed my father, for I took part willingly in all the evils wrought by our oath, which I now deem ill-conceived; yet to it I remain bound. Maitimo repented also, though his spirit burnt as his father's did."

A dark fear settled in the pit of Findekáno's stomach as he realized that he had not seen the tall form of Maitimo among the company. Certainly, though there was dissension of late their ancient friendship would compel Maitimo to greet him at the least? And where was Fëanáro? "What has happened, Makalaurë?" said Findekáno, his voice near breaking.

"Fëanáro, my father...was slain. Morgoth took Maitimo shortly after." Makalaurë turned his face from Findekáno to hide his tears.

"But he lives?" Findekáno asked hopefully.

"We know not," said Makalaurë.

"He is still alive, and he has not forsaken hope," said Findekáno firmly as Makalaurë rose. My heart would feel far more empty than it does were he lost. In Aman I loved him, and he returned my love, and few oaths can sunder such a thing."

"Findekáno, they have held him there for days unnumbered!" cried Makalaurë, finally in a state of abandon. "They have held him nearly since the death of his father, perhaps before your host had found Middle-earth. None here can conceive the tortures that Morgoth and his servants have devised. None! Not even you, who have braved Helcaraxë. Morgoth offered his life for our removal from Beleriand and even Middle-earth, leaving with him the Silmarils. Now though, since I have no word over the will of my brothers, there he shall remain, though I loathe to think it." He stopped for a moment, forcefully holding back the tears that threatened to spill forth from his eyes. "They do what they think to be right."

"The spirit of Maitimo burns yet, Makalaurë. I know it," Findekáno said, without feeling the words to be as hopeful as he made them sound.

Makalaurë went slowly from the pavilion, turning quickly away from Findekáno, but he stopped before leaving, and nodded his heavy head. "And I hope it always shall. But the fate of Fëanáro's sons, and all those who will stand with them is now marred. This you know, son of Fingolfin. And this I know, as well."

Only hours later, Findekáno began a deed of which many songs would tell in later years. He gathered together only such supplies as he would need, and set forth in secret to seek his kinsmen. Fearless, he strode through the hills without tire, even though he would come at length into the darkness of Angband. He would not leave Maitimo to suffer as Maitimo had left him.


	2. The Breaking of Maitimo

A/N: _I've had a lot of complaints for this story, because no one seems to know who I'm talking about when I address the sons of Fëanor. The Silmarillion gave the altered names as such: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. This is listed from oldest to youngest. Amrod and Amras were twins, though Amras was apparently born last. These are Sindarin forms of their mother-names. Their father-names, which, in a sense, are their proper titles, are as follows: Nelyafinwë (equivalent to Finwë III), Kanafinwë, Morifinwë ("dark Finwë"), Kurufinwë ("son of Finwë"), Pityafinwë ("little Finwë"), and Telufinwë ("last Finwë"). No father name was given for Celegorm, it would seem. In this story, I have used neither of these forms of the brother's names, but their mother names were Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Atarinkë, Ambarusso, and Ambarusso. At Fëanor's urging, Nerdanel renamed the youngest twin Umbarto, meaning "fated". Fëanor promptly took matters into his own hands and changed the name to Ambarto, meaning "exalted". In an earlier version of the tale of Fëanor's kin, the name Umbarto came back into play, because his youngest son had been asleep on his ship when Feanor burnt the ships at Losgar, burning the aptly named son along with the ship. Other Quenya names are used, as well, in an attempt to preserve Tolkien's intention for each character's many names. The Noldor use only Quenya names, even in Middle-earth. Albeit, the language was outlawed, they are in their own territory, and my do as they please (Thingol in Doriath had been the one to outlaw Quenya). Therefore, Fëanor is changed to Fëanáro, Fingolfin remains unaltered and his wife is called Anairë (she was obscure), whereas Fingon is changed to Findekáno, Turgon to Turukáno, Aredhel to Irissë, and Argon (an obscure son of Fingolfin) to Arakáno. The Noldor observe Fëanor's wish and refuse to mention the name of Melkor, rather calling him Morgoth, but characters such as Sauron obviously do not observe this. Lastly, I was questioned on a point at which Morgoth calls Maedhros (Maitimo) by the name Russandol. This was an affectionate nickname given to him in Tirion by his family, presumably his mother in particular, meaning "copper-top." (Maitimo means "well-formed", and the Sindarin Maedhros was a blending of these two names, meaning "well-formed copper.") Please note that it's been a while since I read The Silmarillion or any of the supplementary material, so please feel free to drop me a line and correct me if you find any mistakes or inconsistencies. Special thanks to Matt Massey, my saviour, who inspired this love story between two strong men._

Chapter 2: The Breaking of Russandol

Maitimo barely noticed as the Orcs led him away. Lack of food and sleep had made him often despondent, and sometimes crazed and violent, and he was much feared by the guards, and those who tortured the prisoners. Maitimo could not walk sufficiently; his legs had not yet been healed of the wounds inflicted by some device about his shins, and to bend his ankles and knees was nearly impossible. After much whipping to motivate him into an upright pose failed, the guards simply dragged him along the rough stone, and continued to whip his chest, stomach, and thighs. The guards talked quietly amongst themselves, deciding where they would bring Maitimo, until finally they erupted in raucous laughter and dragged him faster down the unlit corridor, to a room near its end. Maitimo thought he might cry out when they flung open the door. In one corner was a tall tripod, upon which there was a cone wrought of iron with its sharpened tip facing upward. Suspended from chains which hung from the walls and ceiling was a young elf. Maitimo fell sick as he beheld her, the weight of her body supported between her legs. The top of the cone had been shoved deep into her body. Her wide, unseeing eyes followed Maitimo as he was shoved forward into the room. The door was shut and locked behind him, and a torch was set in the sconce near it. To Maitimo's surprise, the smiling guard unbound him completely. Flexing his long-bound wrists, he found that they had forgotten how to work properly.

"Get her down from there!' one of the guards shouted suddenly. Maitimo made no move, expecting that the order was meant for someone else. Then, the same guard jabbed the back of his thigh with his dull spear, pushing him towards the woman. "You 'eard! Now, get her down."

Without much thought to the excruciating pain in his shins, Maitimo surveyed the chains binding the woman. They led to three wheels on the wall, and one large wheel turned the other three. He went to the largest and, very slowly, raised all the chains. Nothing happened at first that Maitimo could hear, for he had looked away, unwilling to see what pain the woman would be in, but moments later there came a sickening squelch as the seal of drying blood was broken, and then the splatter of new blood on the stone floor. He continued to raise the chains until the woman was free of the cone and the weights on her ankles pulled her legs shut over her maimed womanhood, eliciting a weak scream from her ravaged throat. Maitimo ran to her, then, and put his weight beneath hers as he removed the pins from the four manacles and the weights from her ankles, freeing her. She rested lightly in his arms, but her bare chest moved with no breath that was visible. Still her pulse beat, though it was rapid and weak. He looked upon her tortured, humiliated form with greatest sorrow and intense, burning hate.

Then, as Maitimo lost himself in these thoughts, a guard grabbed the woman, dragging her to the corner by her matted, once-golden hair, where he threw her to the floor like an item ruined and unwanted. Two more of the Orcs were behind him now as he watched, and they fastened his neck into the device's largest manacle. He did not move. When he spoke his voice was a hoarse whisper. "She will soon be free. You'll hold her no more."

Faster than the Orcs could perceive, Maitimo turned and took hold of the nearest Orc's neck. It snapped a second later.

The other guards were so surprised by this burst of strength and emotion from their cold captive that they did nothing at first. Maitimo spat upon the Orc. The captain came forward then and laid into Maitimo with his whip. The Elf did not show any sign of feeling the blows, he only struggled against the next four guards it took to chain his wrists.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Sauron, the young lieutenant, strode in, his mood seeming good. He smirked to see Maitimo's plight, then turned to the captain at his side. "Shall our news wait an hour or so?" The captain nodded and grunted, then retrieved a chair for his master, who seated himself comfortably, as if to see a drama performed.

Once Maitimo's wrists were secure, the left him to hang by them as they lifted his feet and spread them to meet more manacles. With slight adjustments to the chains, they had positioned the cone's point so that it barely brushed the entrance to Maitimo's body. As the eyes of Sauron came alight at this, Maitimo felt the agony of humiliation sinking in. Never had he dared to imagine such a disgusting, sick form of torment. Then, as the guards began to lower him downward onto the point, Sauron held up his hand, a cruel smile upon his face.

"I should have each one of you cast into pits to rot," he said coolly. "Is this how we treat a lover?" He glided silently to stand beside Maitimo, and stroked gently upward from the Elf's swollen ankle to his spread thighs, and bestowed a light, gentle touch upon the tip of Maitimo's shaft. "Do you know who I am, Prince?"

"I do," Maitimo growled through clenched teeth, though, inwardly he was screaming with all his soul, sure that this would be the hour that they finally broke his spirit. "You're another of that thief's bitches, with wits enough only for thralldom…though I have you to thank for this correction. I am a King, now. Not a Prince. I have no master and I serve none."

Sauron laughed, though his cool nature had now culminated into amusement. "Precious. He's nearly as fiery as his father." He ran his fingertips enticingly over the sensitive skin of Maitimo's belly. To Maitimo's horror, his body betrayed him as a rush of heat pooled in his groin and his length began to stiffen uncontrollably. Brow creased, he turned away, wishing to see no more. "You see?" Sauron smiled. "Even Kings are slaves to their own flesh." In the corner, intrigued by the sight, several of the Orkish guards had taken to pleasuring themselves in the now deceased woman's torn, blood-slicked passage and throat. Maitimo would have wretched, had there been anything in his stomach.

Sauron laughed at the Elf's disgust and wrapped his slender fingers around Maitimo's arousal and pumped his fist several times until Maitimo groaned at the merciless grip. "Get me a brace," he ordered the captain, continuing to pleasure his captive. The captain returned with a small, open cuff, which he handed to his master. Sauron pumped harder still, his very touch sending waves of electricity surging through Maitimo, until, at last, Maitimo could dam the pleasure no longer. His body tensed, ready to release, but just as the first shudder of orgasm began, Sauron fastened the brace tightly over Maitimo's cock. Maitimo gasped at the excruciating ache of the clamp's pressure, but stilled his movement otherwise.

Smiling, Sauron surveyed the company gathered about. "This, my children," he began, and went to the wall opposite from which he took a well sharpened pear from a hook, "is how we treat our lovers."

Maitimo had heard rumours once of the pear's function. He had heard that its wide, tapered end was inserted into the mouth, where, at the pull of a trigger, the device would expand into three spiked leaves and maim its victim. Most did not survive its infliction, for it would mutilate the mouth and throat and poison its victims with their own blood. It was a dark whisper in Middle-earth, often dismissed as a sick fiction. He struggled violently, and it took five of the larger Orcs to restrain him as Sauron approached. After yet more struggle, Maitimo's mouth was held open and they had restricted his movement by holding tightly by his long red tresses. Yet, Maitimo calmed as the pear was inserted, and found himself praying to the Valar, repenting of many deeds, expecting his death, which he deemed was nigh at hand. Then, strangely, Sauron withdrew the device and motioned for the guards to step away. Maitimo's breathing quickened as he hung there, shocked to be alive.

Then, a greater horror turned his thoughts from praise of the Valar. Sauron's silken fingers slithered down his spine to the crevice between his spread legs and parted the well-formed buttocks, revealing the untouched entrance, where he positioned the head of the pear. Slicked by Maitimo's saliva, the wide apparatus was inserted with only a little discomfort, but the dread growing within Maitimo dwarfed his other ailments. The Orcs laughed to see their captive trembling. Snaking his hand around the Elf's fair body, Sauron brushed his thumb over the weeping head of Maitimo's cock, making the ache yet more unbearable, but then his hand moved to the clasp of the tight brace. He adjusted it so that the constriction was greater, until Maitimo thought his skin would tear and burst, and then lightened the pressure, only enough to provide significant contrast; not yet enough to allow Maitimo the terrible release for which he so longed. Swiftly then he repeated these motions, milking the Elf's shaft cruelly until Maitimo could not contain his cries of torturous pleasure.

Then, in the midst of Maitimo's awful rapture, the pear bloomed in one quick, brutal second. As Maitimo became aware of the indescribable fire spreading through him and his pale face turned to white; just as his mouth opened to let forth a scream to herald his anguish, Sauron tore the brace from his cock. Amidst the long, broken cry of pain, Maitimo moaned as his seed, spotted with dark blood, shot strongly from him, and his body tensed with uncontrollable orgasm, letting the pear's inner razors rip him further. The agony of it all took his breath from him, and bile spilled from his lips as Sauron withdrew the cruel instrument from his body, still opened. As his passage was opened briefly, blood spilled from his defiled entrance, pooling on the floor so quickly that it may have flooded the room had it be let to flow. He struggled to gain his breath, but could only weep. He uttered the name of Nerdanel like a prayer, as if it was the last sacred thing he knew that hour.

Sauron finished wiping his hands clean of his victim's blood and took Maitimo's chin gently. "Mother is not here, Maitimo," he said apologetically, using the Elf's mother-name. He turned back to the host of Orcs. "Oh, but what would she think if she could see her eldest boy, now, spilling his seed for Melkor's _thrall_?" The Orcs laughed and cheered for their lieutenant, who seated himself once again, and motioned for the show to proceed.

For yet another hour, the company tortured Maitimo, dropping him time and time again on the point of the iron cone, until his genitalia was maimed beyond repair. However, Maitimo felt little after so long, and had little left of the fire that drove him to fight and withhold his cries. Then, Sauron rose and bade his servants to cease their jeering. He approached Maitimo and released his limbs from the cruel bonds. Maitimo's weight was put upon the cone for a moment, before his limp form fell to the side. Sauron stepped fluidly aside as Maitimo ravaged body crumpled on the floor before him. The Elf seemed utterly lifeless. His strength was gone. When they cauterized his wounds he only moaned frantically.

"And now that we have our little game, I suppose I should impart my message. As your brother's have forsaken you, child, my Lord has found mercy in his heart for you." Sauron smirked as Maitimo raised his head to look upon him, eyes filled with tears that only the strongest of men live to shed. "Today, young Prince, we shall release you from Angband."

The Orcs fell silent, staring at their master, who bent and tenderly, lifted Maitimo from the rough-hewn floor. Maitimo seemed no longer aware of who it was that held him, and leaned heavily into the dark one's arms. He took steps automatically, most of his weight resting on Sauron, who smiled at his prisoner's compliance. Up the endless flight of stairs he led him, until, through many long and winding corridors, they came to the Nethermost Hall, where Morgoth sat enthroned in all his terrible might. The burning light of the Silmarils alone lit the hall. With honey-sweet promises of freedom, Sauron lured him into the great hall, and Morgoth took to himself a guise yet fairer than Sauron's. He seemed an Elf of high birth, though his eyes were purely black without natural whiteness, and they shone with an eerie glow in the shadow cast by the Silmarils' radiance. Sauron left them then, and stood aside in the doorway, allowing none to enter, and Maitimo was left upon the floor, naked and bleeding before Morgoth.

"Your brothers wish not for me to release you, Nelyafinwe," said Morgoth, his voice beautiful but terrible and unbearable to hear. He rose from his great throne and stroked Maitimo's matted, copper locks. "They fear that I have twisted your mind...perverted you to my service, and so they will not take you back." He put one finger under Maitimo's chin and raised it until their eyes met. His touch was like fire, and yet faint, contained within an earthly form. "But we both know that I have done no such thing. In fact, I am going to set you free, Curufëanáro. And, since your kin have made you an outcast, I shall give you a new home...for it is my knowledge that your kind long for the beauty of the lands. Come, Russandol."

Maitimo remembered only shutting his eyes for a moment, and then a strong wind rose up beneath him, and lifted him. He thought for a moment that his spirit and indeed passed into the eternal darkness, and that he was free of his torment. Then, something clamped about his right wrist, cold, sharp, and brutally tight. At this, he opened his eyes, and sent a silent prayer to the Valar, for he was suspended by a great, chill wind upon the face of a precipice, somewhere in the labyrinth of Thangorodrim. Then, the wind ceased, and he fell into the manacle about his wrist. It cut him deeply, and he saw the blood run from his wrist down his arm to his bare chest. His scream of rage and torment echoed through the black mountains. He screamed a single word, a thousand times it seemed, until his voice left him, and he could only whisper. That word that Maitimo spoke in his darkest hour held all the hatred and anger that he had ever known. Once more, he whispered it before falling into oblivion.

"_Fëanáro."_


	3. Deliverance from Evil

Chapter 3: Deliverance from Evil

Findekáno had spent many days seeking for life in Thangorodrim untainted by the evil of Morgoth, venturing nigh to the great Iron Prison Angband, cloaked by the very shade of mists and darkness Morgoth had cast over the land in victory. He had passed arduously through Hithlum, going always in secret. To the north and east he traveled, passing unhindered over Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow. Then, he came to the lands of Dor Daedeloth, and that was an evil crossing. Morgoth's beasts prowled the land, and many of them were crazed with hunger, unable to find sustenance in the barren plain, and they readily attacked him. This he survived with many trials, but he was undaunted still. At last, the Great Gate of Angband began to grow upon the horizon. After arriving in Middle-earth, he had stood at these gates, Morgoth's host having retreated behind them. Now, he entered the mountains of Thangorodrim to the west of that gate, and sought out a labyrinthine pathway, which would at length lead him into the heart of the mountains, and into Angband.

Though Findekáno wearied swiftly in the shadow of the Dark Vala, he continued to search desperately for any faint glimmer of light within the gloom that might shine from the spirit of Maitimo, his kinsman and friend of old. In the chill of Thangorodrim's deep valleys he sought for the heat of the fire that had once burnt within Fëanáro, that now burnt within his sons. But of Maitimo he found no trace in such places as he could come to. At times so weary of his hunt was he that he would enter reverie even as he walked in the deepest shadows of the great darkness which Morgoth had brought forth from the pits of his stronghold, and he would do so unwillingly, for his visions healed him not of the aching of his limbs and heart. Instead, he heard, as if from a great distance, the cries of Elves, of the Noldor, his kin, but he could not hope to reach them. He was lost within the mountains, and knew not the way to his kinsman, nor the way back to Hithlum.

Then, as his search became hopeless with the passage of time, the eldest son of Fingolfin despaired in the gloom. But, in defiance of the power of Morgoth, he drew from his light satchel a fair silver harp, wrought by the Noldor in Tirion, when the light of Telperion and Laurelin shone still, and playing upon it he sang tearfully. He sang praise for Manwë, and it seemed to him that a fair breeze passed between the sharp pinnacles of the black mountains, and he praised Varda, the Star-kindler, and even in that dimness the unsullied light of a single star shone in the heavens through the mists. And yet with more passion he praised Ulmo of the Water, who had ever been a friend to the Eldar and as great even as Manwë, most learned in the music of the Valar. Then, he perceived that, in the distance, his song was taken up. Tortured and fair the music became, and Findekáno rose in amazement. But the song fell and died out, leaving only an echo amidst the mountains of Thangorodrim.

So it was that, following this weakened, breaking voice, Findekáno found at last his cousin, though the sheerness of the precipice wall to which Maitimo was bound lay between them. Findekáno's sharp eyes could barely perceive the form of Maitimo, for it had become faint and wraithlike, and had wasted sadly in Angband's dungeons.

"Maitimo!" he cried with all the force he could muster. No answer came. "Maitimo!"

Maitimo could hear the voice from far below, and knew it, through a heavy mist, to be Findekáno, his friend of old. Many times he called out, each time finding that his words had been imagined, and that he was only just returning to consciousness. Then, he mastered himself by recalling the pain that gripped his body, and it brought him to wakefulness. "Findekáno," he said, but all that would come from his parched mouth was a hoarse whisper. "Findekáno! I am here!" he called as loudly as he could. He feared that Findekáno would not hear him.

Findekáno did hear him though, and frantically he began to search for a way up the sheer wall. He found none. "Do you know of a way up?" he shouted, and for a moment Maitimo made no reply.

"There is none, but it is good to see you, all the same." said Maitimo, weeping to see his kinsman had come for him. As he wept, he let his desperate request spill forth. "Give me peace!"

Findekáno backed away from the precipice, his heart torn by his cousin's cry.

"Please!" Maitimo wept, his pain only increasing as he became more aware. "Release me! Take my life. I cannot..." Indeed, Maitimo had been reduced to no more than a lame animal, without hope or will to survive. It was best for those animals to be delivered from the evil which life had become.

"No," Findekáno whispered.

"Deliver me," Maitimo said softly, and, somehow, Findekáno heard him.

"Please, no," said Findekáno, feeling a sob of rage building within him, but even as he did this he drew forth his bow and an arrow, and took deadly aim, so that all would end swiftly.

Maitimo saw this, and was at peace. He raised his head toward the heavens and uttered a final, silent prayer, then shut his eyes, waiting with a smile lingering upon his lips.

But Findekáno son of Fingolfin had prayed as well, even as he bent the bow, and his prayer was heard the louder, and as he loosed his arrow there came a great wind, and the new Sun was blocked from view by a great eagle. Thorondor this was, the Lord of all Eagles and servant of Manwë, and within his talons he caught the shaft effortlessly, then wheeled about and landed before Findekáno.

"The Noldor have long had the pity of the Valar," said the great bird. "What do you wish of me?"

"Only that you bear me to my kinsman, Maitimo, son of Fëanáro, that I might free him from the device of Morgoth." Findekáno bowed low as he pleaded this.

"The Valar ask a price of you for this deed," said Thorondor. "We ask that you do all you might to heal the Noldor. Loving this son of Fëanáro is enough." And then Thorondor bowed his head, and let Findekáno ride upon his feathered back to the higher face of the precipice, where Maitimo hung.

From Thorondor's back Findekáno could not reach his cousin. In a brave feat, he leapt from the bird and caught one hand onto a small protruding ledge only inches below the reach of Maitimo's feet, and he pulled himself up until he could stand upon this ledge, barely able to balance. He steadied himself against the rock, and then looked upon what was Maitimo. Old blood stained the Elf's body, and scars unnumbered marred the white skin. Nearly every bone in Maitimo's body was made visible from many months of starvation. The entire area between his thighs was maimed, and the right hand seemed lifeless, and for these things Findekáno could see there would be little hope of healing.

Findekáno reached for the iron band around his cousin's wrist, finding himself barely tall enough to reach it, for Maitimo was long-limbed and of an impressive height, but there was no lock upon it to pick. He laid his hand upon Maitimo's chest, and watched as he came back to wakefulness.

"Findekáno," he breathed. "How did you come here?"

"I prayed," Findekáno smiled sadly. He wrapped his arm around Maitimo so that he would not fall, and then removed his cloak. Very carefully, he draped the heavy garment around his cousin's gaunt, naked body, and then he drew forth a dagger. Seeing this, Maitimo sighed.

"Thank you," he wept, thinking Findekáno would slay him.

"Do not be so quick to give me your thanks, Maitimo," Findekáno panted as he laboured away at the iron band, holding Maitimo tightly in his arms. When the device showed no sign of coming free, he tried to chip away at the rock around it, into which it was deeply set, but this only served to notch his blade, and he deemed it useless. An hour passed, and then another, but the manacle would not give way, and Findekáno realised that some dark spell of Morgoth's own make was upon it. Maitimo was in great pain from Findekáno's attempts to free him, for as Findekáno had held him close his body no longer hung by his wrist, and feeling had come back to his hand. The wrist and several other bones were grossly out of place, and the imprint of the band was drawn in blood upon his bruised skin. There was no hope of removing it.

"The cuff will not be broken," he said, and cursed, feverishly kissing Maitimo's cold brow.

"Then end it here," said Maitimo. "I am weary…I wish not to suffer longer." Outwardly, he seemed calm and composed, but Findekáno could see plainly the wildness and cold fear within Maitimo's jade eyes.

Findekáno held his cousin closer still, and clasped his free hand tightly, and brought it to his lips to kiss. His voice rose with passion as he spoke, and he took his kinsman's pale face in his hand, forcing their gazes to meet. "Miracles have brought me to you this day, Maitimo! Once already have I been blind to the blessings of the Valar, and I have paid dearly for it. I shall not let you forsake your life, Russandol, for I love you." He reached up and tenderly stroked Maitimo's copper hair, and brushed a stray tear away from his cheek. "I am going to take your hand. I am sorry, but my will is set."

Quickly, he drew Maitimo's head down to his shoulder, where his eyes were hidden that he might not see himself maimed. He could feel Maitimo's heart begin to race within his breast as he drew him closer. Maitimo wrapped his free arm about Findekáno, clutching him desperately. But Findekáno could do nothing to ease the pain. He feared that the beleaguered Elf would die despite his efforts from blood loss, unless the Valar blessed them with yet another miracle.

He tore a long strip from his shirt, and bound it tightly about Maitimo's arm, just above his elbow. He knew in his heart that such a crude tourniquet could never save Maitimo should he botch the cut itself. He pinned the frail arm against the stone, should Maitimo struggle, then pressed the blade of his dagger lightly against the white skin of Maitimo's wrist.

His knife was dulled from long hours of working away at the stone of the mountainside, and so a quick cut would be very difficult, yet it would not do for slow precision either. With a final prayer, he began to whisper quiet, soothing words, slowing his cousin's heart before cutting him, and he sang softly an old Quenya lullaby; a warm reminder of Nerdanel.

"I love you as well, Findekáno," Maitimo whispered, his voice trembling violently, and yet he relaxed and entrusted what remained of his beaten body to Findekáno.

Pressing down with all his might, Findekáno drew his blade across Maitimo's wrist. Blood spilled forth, and Maitimo screamed brokenly amid his tears. Yet still, the hand was attached by a thick stretch of skin, and this Findekáno sliced through as well, stubborn bone splintering at last. Maitimo was calling out rapidly now, as he had when they had tortured him in Angband, praying frantically, his Quenya incoherent.

The remains of his arm slipped easily from the tight band, slicked by his fast-flowing blood, and he fell heavily into Findekáno, who set him on the back of Thorondor, then mounted behind him. Like a child he held the weeping Maitimo to his chest, cradled in his cloak, which he soaked in the remaining contents of his water-skin and placed over the bleeding stump pressing hard to stem the flow. Swifter than the wind, they were born back toward Hithlum.

Findekáno spoke constantly to Maitimo throughout the journey, trying to keep him conscious. This did not seem difficult at all, for Maitimo was completely aware, despite his loss of blood. "Such torture," Findekáno heard him whisper once. Thinking that he spoke of the loss off his hand, Findekáno's very soul was wrenched. "Forgive me, Maitimo," he wept.

"It is over now that I have seen you." When Findekáno looked questioningly toward his cousin, Maitimo answered, trembling. "Upon that mountain, I dreamed every night that you were dead, friend."

When they arrived back at the Noldor's encampment night had fallen, and all was illuminated in the light of moon and stars. Thorondor gave a great triumphant call and landed in the midst of the camp as all rose from sleep to see what bird cried so freely in the night.

One figure stopped abruptly as he came nearer to Thorondor, and, trembling slightly, he said, "Maitimo?"

Maitimo opened his eyes, which he had closed while trying to breathe through his pain. They met with Findekáno's, and Findekáno smiled slightly, seeing new intensity in them, and then he watched as Maitimo mustered what strength he had left to him and answered. "I am here, brother!" Findekáno perceived then that, being free from Angband and the band of steel which Morgoth had made, some part of Maitimo's spirit was set free, and now fought death with such intensity that he would draw strength from the steadying pain in his wrist, rather than seek to escape it. "I am here," he whispered. The flame within him was rekindled at last.

Makalaurë reached out and took Maitimo's light body into his arms as Findekáno lowered him with care, and, seeing his bleeding wrist, called for healers to make ready a bed and gather their supplies. "Valar and Eru bless you, Findekáno!" Makalaurë said, and then hastened away, bearing Maitimo with him. Ever after, Findekáno would wonder at how the two elder sons of Fëanáro had praised the Valar in desperate times, though their father had never seen past their kinship to Morgoth.

Findekáno slid from Thorondor's back, but he fell to the ground as he landed, as if all the weariness that had gone unnoticed in his search for Maitimo had suddenly come upon him now that his task was fulfilled. He rose to his hands and knees, and then the perilous beak of Thorondor nudged him gently to his feet.

"Valar grant you strength," Thorondor seemed to smile, and the prayer alone seemed to revitalise Findekáno. "But forget not your debt. Your place is at his side."

Findekáno nodded in compliance, and bowed respectfully. "My thanks, Lord of Eagles, and give my thanks also to the Valar, for any of less goodness would have long ago forsaken the Noldor."

"Go to him! He needs you most now." Thorondor said as he spread his gargantuan wings. He took flight, and then was gone, merging at length into the Western horizon.


	4. Findekano's Oath

A/N: Whee...just reposted this chapter, with several corrections on names. I made the mistake of addressing Curufinwë as Atarinkë, somehow forgetting that he always went by his father name. Several other corrections should have been made for the sake of consistency, but since all the other chapters have featured the characters in question, I've deemed it too late to make a change, unless anyone really cares. Morgoth should have been Moringotto, and Fingolfin should have been Nolofinwë. My A/N in the first chapter said, "I believe that Fingolfin was the mother-name he went by, though I may be mistaken." Well, I was mistaken. It would seem that Fingolfin was indeed his name in Sindarin, and he went by his father-name in Valinor, Nolofinwë. Sorry for the confusion and inconsistency.

Chapter Four: Findekáno's Oath

When Findekáno found his cousins, Fëanáro's sons, they had all gathered about the bed in which Maitimo lay. Every face looked tense; even the stony features of Tyelkormo, Carnistir, and Curufinwë seemed marred with worry. All turned to look at him as he entered, the rescuer of their brother. For a moment as they beheld him, Findekáno stood defensive, wondering if any of the fiery brothers would be angered with him for risking capture and betrayal of their positions. Then, in a strange happening often told of in years after, Carnistir, heir to all his father's darker attributes, stepped forward first of all the brothers and verily embraced Findekáno Fingolfin's son, and thanked him with tears in his obsidian eyes. All the brothers did this in like fashion, and then led Findekáno to his friend's side. Maitimo seemed to be dozing only lightly, and he opened his eyes when Findekáno sat on the coverlet beside him.

While before Maitimo's body had been ice cold, he now burnt with raging fever, and though it clouded his eyes nothing was done to lower it, for should the wounds he bore fester he would die far faster than by the fever. Then, Findekáno looked up, and in the entrance stood Fingolfin, his father, astounded. Immediately, he distanced himself from Maitimo, remembering how his father had chastised him for still loving a son of Fëanáro.

Quietly, he exited and went to speak with his father. Fingolfin clasped his son's now gaunt face in his hands and kissed his brow. "I thought you dead, Findekáno," he exclaimed. "Why did you not tell me where you thought to go?"

"You would never have allowed me to leave Hithlum. I had no choice."

Fingolfin turned away and was silent. At length, he sighed. "Yes, my son, you did have a choice. Instead of risking yourself you might have left Fëanáro's son in Morgoth's hands. But...you chose rightly." Fingolfin did not look upon his son's face, but felt that he must be staring agape to hear his words. "It would seem that I judged you both wrongly. In Aman I punished you, when you so willingly, so innocently explained to me that you loved him. Now, I see that you love him indeed, and I will not seek to part you from him. Do what you will with him, if he will have you." Then, Fingolfin caught Findekáno's eyes and held them, his stern features suddenly hardened. "However, if I hear so much as rumour that others may know of your affairs with that son of Fëanáro, your _cousin_, you shall no longer have my favour in this matter, nor my blessing."

Findekáno nodded. It would be better now that he did not have to deny that he loved Maitimo, though he much doubted he would ever tell Maitimo of his thoughts, and the thought of him bequeathing to any other his attractions was simply absurd. "As you wish, my Lord." He smiled and bowed slightly, and his father embraced him once more before ushering him back through the entryway.

In minutes only, two healers hastened into the tent, supplies readied, and the brothers clasped Maitimo's remaining hand and left, but Maitimo, to the astonishment of all, asked that Findekáno remain if he was to be examined. Findekáno complied, though he did so uncomfortably. He turned his back to the healers as they assessed the horrific marring of Maitimo's body. He did not listen to their words as they discussed what had been done, but he could not help but hear Maitimo's quiet, clinical explanation of the tortures he had suffered. They placed a poultice between his thighs, and then covered him with a cloth. _Should he have any modesty left to preserve,_ thought Findekáno bitterly. The healers called him over, then, and he aided them as he was able, mostly in holding Maitimo when the pain became too much and he began to struggle unwittingly under the fever's influence. Maitimo had managed to be still as they broke one of his shins and set it correctly that he might walk once it healed, as it had healed from an earlier fracture without success, but Findekáno was of much help as they laid brand to the stump of his wrist to stop the bleeding. Findekáno had given him a strip of leather to bite down upon, but afterward a darkness had started around Maitimo's eyes of broken blood vessels and he seemed faint and weary. The healers bandaged the rest of his wounds, set the maimed arm in a sling, changed the sheets, and then, bowing, took their leave.

Findekáno rose as they exited and found a cloth and cool water, and cleaned away the sweat from his friend's brow, blowing upon it to lower the fever now that there was salve upon Maitimo's wounds.

"That stings," Maitimo sighed, brow creasing.

Findekáno smiled. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I think," Maitimo said through a strained whisper, "that there will be no sleep for me this night. Every time my heart beats a hammer falls upon some hurt."

"Well, let us hope that pain will continue, then," Findekáno said, but his humour was lost in the midst of Maitimo's groan as the pain flared up.

Minutes later, when he had calmed, Maitimo opened his eyes. "Thank you, cousin."

Findekáno shook his head. "You would have done the same for me, Maitimo. There are no debts between friends. There was no harm done," he said unthinkingly.

"There is no measure to the harm I have done," Maitimo spat bitterly.

"And yet it could not come between us." He took Maitimo's left hand in his and kissed it gently. "Our friendship was made in Aman, and the Valar were witness to it a thousand times over, and no misfortune can harm that."

"Do not lie to me!" Maitimo ground out savagely, and the suddenness of his anger surprised Findekáno. "Helcaraxë's cold is not so easily forgotten as that, Findekáno. You are blind and a fool if you cannot see how I have betrayed you!"

Findekáno stood, and his grew face stony and his eyes narrowed wrathfully. "Did you lead the Noldor, Maitimo? Were you a greater King already than you father? Did you find yourself with more power than he? I think not!" Findekáno's voice grew quiet, yet Maitimo heard him ever more clearly. "Do not be arrogant, son of Fëanáro, for that is what the nobility of your father's house became. This crime does not belong to you, alone. If I did not know what a feat it would be for you to live through this night, I would strike you, Maitimo." He laughed harshly as his anger built to new heights, fuelled by months of wondering through the ice, watching the women and children die and the men wither with hunger and sorrow. "I would curse your family if your father had not done so already."

"Strike me, then, Findekáno!" Maitimo urged vehemently. "Slay me, shun me, but speak not an ill word of my father. His folly has already brought him to death, but my evils still live with me!"

Findekáno laughed again, almost cruelly. "You think you might speak of death? You have not seen death! I have fostered children whose mothers starved, only to watch their hearts freeze within them! And then we could do no more than leave them on the ground to mark our trail. That, son of Fëanáro, is death.

"You are the blind fool if you do not see that these are days when kin may slay kin and be called heroes. No, Maitimo, I can see." He held out his hands, showing Maitimo the deep raw cracks in his skin that lingered from the merciless passage through Helcaraxë. "I can see this betrayal plainly, and I can feel it as well as you can, though I feel the injury...and you the guilt. And now, you have suffered more than I, and Eru knows that your heart should bear no guilty burden." Then, he fell silent as he looked upon his stricken cousin. Maitimo, who had been tense in his frustration before had slumped back against the pallet, tears flowing swiftly down his cheeks, and Findekáno was suddenly overcome with a wave of pity. He knelt and gathered Maitimo to him as a sob welled up and escaped his cousin in remorseful words.

"Oh, Findekáno, I have paid! I have paid!" He wept for long minutes, as Findekáno had never thought any born in the bliss of Aman, and of such a brave, steeled heart, could weep. His shoulders shook as he cried, as if he was no more than a hurt child. "Yet I can never pay enough. You should have left me, Findekáno. Not even Morgoth's damnation could punish this traitor! This is not enough for dead women and children."

"Forget, then, Maitimo," Findekáno whispered soothingly. "And let our feuds be healed before they are put beyond repair by shame and silence." He sighed heavily. "Forgive me, cousin. I should not have spoken thus. Not now...not here." Findekáno held Maitimo tighter as his cousin leaned more heavily upon him, and sleep took them both soon after.

The morning came at last, grey and sullen, yet, in the gloom of the day, the camp was buzzing with activity. The sons of Fëanáro had wholeheartedly repented of the Kinslaying and the burning of the ships at Losgar, and Fingolfin and his people wholeheartedly forgave them in return. Although dealings between Fingolfin's people and Fëanáro's sons would remain tense for some time after, Findekáno and Maitimo became an exception to this mood. Findekáno could hardly be removed from his cousin's side. He cared for him if the fever rose and busied himself with changing bandages and sheets, unashamed to aid him in personal matters. Maitimo was thankful, and yet his pride did not allow him to submit entirely to the care of another. As the weeks passed, the colour began to return to Maitimo's cheeks. He still looked as if he lingered on death door, but no longer as if he had long since passed through it. Food began to stay in him, and he sat up for longer each day, talking with his cousin when he could.

"Maitimo," Findekáno whispered. It was only minutes after dawn, but Maitimo was already awake and shifting uncomfortably amidst the soiled bandages. "Maitimo, take my hand. I'll help you sit up." Findekáno pulled his cousin into an awkward, upright pose, and held him there as the usual fit of dizziness passed, then arranged the pillows to support him. He took a small wooden cup from the bedside table and helped his cousin to remove the sheets from his waist downward. "Can you manage with your left hand?" he asked, turning his face away as Maitimo struggled to stay up without the use of either arm.

"Of course," he responded, but then gasped and cursed aloud.

Findekáno winced at the sound, remembering the pain of a slight infection of such a nature he'd endured as a child. "I had guessed that would sting," he sighed as Maitimo continued to curse. "The medics said it looked as if it becomes infected."

"Then why did you not warn me?" Maitimo panted as he drew the covers back to his chest. "I might have held that until I was better."

Findekáno laughed as he emptied the cup and wiped it out. "Believe it or not, it helped more than it hurt -"

"I doubt it -"

"It makes a fair disinfectant," Findekáno finished as he washed his hands.

"Not fair enough, I'm afraid," said the younger of the two medics, a straight, slender elf with a fair warm face. He had coated a rather long sound in a thin solution that smelled strongly of alcohol. He sat down on the edge of the bed, brandishing this almost wicked looking tool, and pulled the covers down yet again. As the physician turned to speak to Findekáno, Maitimo, who had been watching the sound uncomfortably, rolled his eyes back, lolled his head to the side, and let his tongue hang limply from the corner of his mouth, feigning a very comic expression of death. Findekáno buried his face in his sleeve, coughing loudly to hide a burst of laughter. "My lord Findekáno," said the healer with a brusque sort of respect. "I must beseech you to go to the next tent and ask for feverfew. My supply is low."

Seeing then that Findekáno's coughing fit was quite renewed as he chanced a glance out of his sleeve, he looked over his shoulder suspiciously to Maitimo, who straightened his face without a moment to spare, but that he was still wiping the corner of his lips. This amused Findekáno so much that he simply chuckled a nearly unidentifiable, "Of course," and exited, leaving his suddenly dejected friend in the able hands of the healer.

Outside the tent, a young page bowed to Findekáno and addressed him. "Lord Curufinwë sent me from the Southern camp. He wishes to know how his brother fares."

Findekáno smiled, wondering how he could possibly tell of the progress his cousin had made. "Tell him...tell Curufinwë that his brother's sense of humour has returned."

It chanced that Findekáno looked up to behold Makalaurë's approach. Maitimo's brother laughed merrily. "That is strange," he said. "The Maitimo I knew had no sense of humour." He and Findekáno greeted one another warmly as the page bowed and departed. Makalaurë

It took longer than expected to retrieve the feverfew that was needed, and when Findekáno returned the healer had left and Maitimo had fallen into a fitful sleep, shifting as if he was uncomfortable on the soft cot. Findekáno sat at his side, wondering at how light-hearted Maitimo seemed outwardly, even when dreams haunted his sleep. Maitimo, he decided would be dead already were it not for the amazing wealth of will within him. As it had in his father, the fire of Serindë burnt hot within Maitimo, and would not allow him to pass to Mandos, or wherever his father's curse would take him.

Very cautiously, Findekáno leant over and kissed his cousin's brow reverently. Then, pausing with bated breath, tipped his head and kissed the cracked, bleeding lips, carefully, gently tasting Maitimo for the first time, and only then did he realise how fervently he had longed to do so since he was young. He became so lost in the feeling that he did not notice Maitimo waking.

"What are you doing?" Maitimo gasped, his jade eyes wide with astonishment.

"I'm fulfilling my oath," Findekáno responded, refusing to be ashamed any longer, no matter what Maitimo did. Findekáno could not see how, after braving the ice of Helcaraxë and the tortures of Angband respectively, either of them could possibly care that they were cousins, and even less that their fathers had been at odds. Thankfully, he was correct in this assumption, for Maitimo willingly parted his lips as the kiss deepened.

Outside the pavilion, hidden from the occupants, Fingolfin stood in silence, watching his eldest son vow love to Fëanáro's heir, who was again the High King of the Noldor, and amidst his foresighted sadness, he smiled. He would trust the design of the Valar above all else, and leave Maitimo and Findekáno to one another as they recalled what was left to them of Aman's bliss.


	5. Of Kings and Heirs

CHAPTER 5: OF KINGS AND HEIRS

Maitimo healed with amazing speed, gaining strength with each day. Even as his brothers told him it would be best to sleep he remained as active as he could be, trying to gather news of what had passed in absence. Eating was a chore after so many months of starvation; his stomach could hold very little, but after the first few meals he finally kept down the food and things began to go smoothly. His right arm soon became strong enough to move, though he could only do so with considerable pain. He wore it close to his body in a sling, making no notice of it. Late one night, Findekáno had come to visit him and found him awake, pen and slate in his remaining hand, struggling pitifully to write his name amidst the other failed scrawls filling the page. It would have been a sad sight, were it not for Maitimo's unmasked determination; he had not slept until he had written the word to his satisfaction.

A week passed, and finally the medics deemed him well enough to rise for a few hours, provided that he promise not to exert himself and that he use a crutch to take weight off of his healing leg. Findekáno helped him to bind the waist-ties on his pants, and lent a shoulder while he dressed, but otherwise Maitimo insisted upon taking pains for independence, as was his way. Findekáno smiled as he watched Maitimo step out into the sunlight, seeing for the first time since his capture the glorious beauty of Hithlum at noontide, when summer's radiance coloured the mists with warm hues. Maitimo's eyes imparted such complete and simple happiness in that moment that Findekáno forgot that the beauty of Arda was ever marred, and recalled a certain giddiness he'd felt as a young child, before the trials of adulthood had beset him...before he knew of betrayal.

Seeing that Maitimo was up and about, Makalaurë rushed over and gently embraced his brother, raising himself onto his toes like a dancer to kiss his brow. "You look well!" he exclaimed smilingly, avoiding the marred limb.

Maitimo curved one side of his mouth in a most handsome smile, yet Findekáno saw the sadness in it. It spoke irony. "Better, little brother," he corrected. "I look better."

"Better than most," Makalaurë replied adoringly, but Maitimo's eyes no longer shone down on his younger brother. They had drifted away, and now fell upon Nolofinwë, who stood but a few steps away.

With a glance to Findekáno and his brother, Maitimo limped slowly over to where his uncle stood and straightened his posture, heedless of Nolofinwë's pitiless gaze. "Might I beg a word with you, Lord?"

Nolofinwë nodded emotionlessly and bid Maitimo follow him to his tent. He walked slowly for his nephew's sake, but offered no arm to lean on. He pulled back the tent flap and let Maitimo enter. They seated themselves at a small table, and Maitimo gathered careful words.

"Did Makalaurë take the kingship in my absence?" he asked.

"He did," Nolofinwë answered, pouring a little wine into a cup and passing it to Maitimo. "And now that you are fit to rule again, it shall pass to you once more."

"For a time," Maitimo replied, stroking the rim of the cup with one long finger. "But now that your host has arrived here - through unpardonable grief - it seems good to me that I should give the rule of the Noldor to you and your house."

Nolofinwë showed neither a sign of surprise nor of gratitude, but rather only nodded again. "Your father would have never condoned such a thing."

"I have always done things he did not condone," Maitimo scoffed. "Curufinwë was always the favoured son, not I."

"You no longer care to please him?" asked Nolofinwë, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinized his nephew.

"He is dead. Why is it your concern?"

Nolofinwë sighed heavily, obviously weary though the day was young. "Makalaurë told me that you opposed the burning of the ships at Losgar. He said you expected that Fëanáro would ferry my host to the coast, and when he refused to send rowers back, you stood aside. Unless I misread your intent, Nelyafinwë, that was a noble deed and I owe you a measure of gratitude."

Maitimo laughed a little, looking pensively into the dark wine in his cup. "You have misread, Lord. I have no friend amongst your host but Findekáno your son. It was a selfish whim."

"Does Findekáno know that you asked that he be ferried to the shore?"

"He needs not know."

"Hm," said Nolofinwë into his drink. "It would comfort him. He is in love with you. I suppose he has said so."

Maitimo blanched visibly and he became wary. "He has. And what is your say on the matter?"

"Oh," Nolofinwë said nonchalantly, "I will not hinder you. He has heard my terms and accepted them."

"What were they?"

"They are not much. I ask only that no one should know of it, for it will be used against you. I am not without sympathy, Nelyafinwë. For years I have been parted from my beloved Anairë and stranded amongst soldiers, and I am no stranger to a man's touch and neither am I a stranger to the want of it." Observing Maitimo's barely concealed astonishment, he said, "I know not if Valar name such love to be a wrongful lust, but keep in mind that I never laid with a cousin of my own. You and Findekáno are sinfully close in kinship."

As Maitimo gathered words for a rebuttal, he noticed the wonderment on his uncle's face. "And yet," Nolofinwë continued. "The Valar have blessed you both. I believe they must prefer the Noldor to bed their kin rather than slaughter them, but….Findekáno told me what Manwë's messenger spoke to him, and I cannot deny that relations have improved between our houses for his care of you. I fear that I hinder the Valar's purpose, but…" Nolofinwë faltered uncharacteristically. When he spoke again there was a tremor of emotion in his strong voice. "When I arrived here and spoke to your brother, I shed not a tear for your plight or Fëanáro's death, but when my son left with no word to me of his intentions…by Ilúvatar, I thought he was lost to me! And now, I find that I worry for you both."

A long silence followed Nolofinwë's admission, until at last Maitimo asked, "Do you accept my offer, then?"

"I do," said Nolofinwë. "But I must impress that you are a fine and capable king to the Noldor. Now, truly my host is now as willing to follow you as Fëanáro's people are. Why do you pass that inheritance onto me so readily?"

"It is rightfully yours," said Maitimo, making quick answer to the inquiry.

"There is something else troubling you," said Nolofinwë, leaning forward across the table. His voice became gentle. "You need not worry to tell me, but I will listen, if you wish, and not speak a word to any other."

Maitimo ran his hand through his bright hair, pulling slightly to fend off a threatening headache. He knew that Nolofinwë saw his anxiety, but he conceded nonetheless. "In Angband, I came to endure whips and lashes of all makes with barely a cry or bated breath. I was kept in darkness, starved, beaten, bound, raped by every foul creature and every iron machine that Moringotto ever made. I was deprived for weeks of sleep and given drugs to hinder my thoughts…but I grew accustomed to it all and I learned to bear it. There were tortures I never learned to bear, also; I could not abide to watch another's pain. Moringotto forced me to bear witness to children tormented. Children, Nolofinwë! They would be left with me to die in my arms, and I would lie to them and say I was the mother they sobbed for; and they would believe me as they bled to death." Maitimo paused, watching Nolofinwë carefully. His uncle held his hard gaze staunchly, though his lips were lessened to a grim line. "Moringotto is merciless in his tortures," he continued. "He will spare nothing. Thus, it is not his way to leave any part of a form unmarred. I think it was his will that I should never beget an heir, but whether he willed it or no it was accomplished. Even if a woman would dare to look upon this twisted body I am left with, she would suffer no burden from me; I fear I am scarred beyond repair and maimed to impotence. Further, I quail from every touch beyond a kiss. I am marked as brave by these hosts who follow us, and yet I could not cease my trembling when your own son tried to lay his gentle hands against my skin! Everything is too near to the pain, and I do not know if this fear shall ever leave me."

Nolofinwë sat long in thought. "You have suffered more than I had dared to think, but you do not seem to ask pity of anyone, and so I do not give it. I think that you suffer still, though, and I see now why you wish not to take the kingship upon you. Yes, a King needs an heir that you could not produce, but I see that there is something beyond that. You could take the rule of the Noldor and declare that it would pass in time to Makalaurë and his heirs, or else to Tyelkormo. Now, I must be truthful with you, for I saw this in your eyes from the first sight I had of you: though your body heals, your spirit is faltering under the weight of your memories. You fear you will die."

Maitimo made no answer. Slowly, he stood and limped toward the doorway, and Nolofinwë followed close behind, ready to offer any assistance he could. "No," Maitimo said at last. "I do not think that I will die. On Thangorodrim, I begged your son to kill me, and yet he would not. I see now how selfish I was to beg him to despair with me after he had risked his very life only to find me, after I had betrayed him and all his kin to cross the Helcaraxë. I do not take his love so lightly that I would leave him now."

Nolofinwë smiled warmly and clasped Maitimo's shoulder. "I am coming to enjoy your company as I once did, before your family was sent into exile. You have grown; you are much like your mother. Let it be her example you take, Nelyafinwë, not Fëanáro's. She is a fair Lady."

"And my father was a noble Lord." Maitimo paused, conceding at last. "I will take his will with me, but I shall leave his feyness to burn with him." Maitimo bowed as well as he was able and left the tent. As he neared the medic's tent where he had been housed, Findekáno espied him and, approaching swiftly offered his arm. Though his pride spoke against it, Maitimo took the proffered support thankfully, for he was weary. He cast mournful eyes on the medic's tent, and Findekáno watched him bemusedly. "Come, cousin. We may find respite in my tent."

Maitimo nodded and suffered in silence through the remaining journey. Findekáno was gladdened, for the care of his friend was in his hands at last. He saw how the clinical surveillance of the army's healers disquieted Maitimo. There touches never seemed gentle enough to him. He ushered Maitimo into his small tent. Upon entering, Maitimo found himself greatly comforted. Findekáno's living quarters were messy and his things were arranged in no particular order and an impressive pile of blankets graced the bed.

Noticing his friend's bemused expression, Findekáno explained as he pinned his own cloak over the entryway to keep out the draft. "Many of my host grew hot-blooded on the march. They are so used to the cold that night's here at Hithlum irk them, even when there is a chill wind off Mithrim to cool them. I find myself generously gifted with tattered old cloaks and blankets of late. For my part, I find them welcoming." He helped Maitimo to seat himself on the edge of the cot, then kicked off his own boots and stretched languidly and bent down to help Maitimo remove his. "Lie back and rest. I'll brew some tea for us."

"Thank you, cousin," said Maitimo, and carefully laid back, finding that the warm pile of blankets and cloaks was indeed welcoming. "It was a great relief to be out of bed," he smiled, "but more taxing than I like to admit," he added with a grimace. "This is a pleasant contrast to the medic's tent. It was too sterile there – cold and empty it seemed."

"Here, it is never cold and forever cluttered," Findekáno laughed as he took a kettle from its place upon a basin of iron coals. "If you wish to sleep here for a time, I will go or stay as you like."

"That is overly generous of you," Maitimo reprimanded. "I wish only for your company. I hope that if I should impose, you would request that I leave. Rather, let us not think on it for now. There are other matters on my mind."

Findekáno sat down beside his cousin on the cot and handed him a steaming cup of tea. "Speak, then, and I shall keep you company."

Maitimo accepted the drink gratefully. "Firstly, I think I must tell you that I have renounced the office of the High King."

"In Makalaurë's favour?" exclaimed Findekáno.

"In your father's favour."

Findekáno's mouth had fallen slightly agape. "My - my father? Maitimo, you were a fine and capable King to these people."

"Perhaps I would have been, but I will also be the end of my line. In Valinor we may have all been thought deathless, but here death awaits us on battlefields and in dungeons, and a King must have an heir. You have seen the worst of my wounds, Findekáno. You can see easily enough that I will never beget a son."

"I had not wished to think on it," Findekáno replied. "I will conceal nothing: the open wound turned my stomach."

Maitimo laughed ruefully. "The searing and stitches turned mine." He stifled a smile as Findekáno blanched at the very mention of such a thing. He settled back into the blankets and wrapped his long, thin fingers around the warm earthenware cup. A pleasant weight settled on his eyelids as he rested there. Soft daylight filtered through the top of the tent, where the cool shadows of leaves quivered in an unfelt wind. Faint and distant, there was music of birdsong in the trees. Maitimo sighed gently and turned his serene gaze toward his friend, who smiled in return. "Why did you kiss me?" he asked suddenly.

The smile faded from Findekáno's face. "That was weeks ago, and your fever was still so high. I did not expect that you would ever remember it."

"That is a terrible reason to kiss someone."

Findekáno grinned at Maitimo's teasing, and then said, "I have always felt that when I bore you down from Thangorodrim, we became intimate. We became closer in love than friends may be, or even husband and wife. We forged a bond then that surpassed the Noldor's laws, our father's feuds, the Oath, the Curse…everything. It will endure until the utmost End of All Things. Even such a kiss as we shared was too distant and cold to impart it."

"I understand," said Maitimo, and Findekáno kissed his brow, and then reached out and clasped his hand, and held it tenderly until he was asleep.


	6. The Conspiritors and the Throne

CHAPTER 6: THE CONSPIRATORS AND THE THRONE

Four days had passed since Maitimo had spoken with his uncle. He had spent the time dutifully resting and was compliant with the physicians. As the sun rose on the fifth day, Maitimo woke, feeling that his state was greatly improved. He was no longer tired, but he was fiercely hungry and was glad when Loméndur, a familiar physician, entered a few minutes later with breakfast for them both. Maitimo had already risen and was struggling to dress, but Loméndur set down the tray and assisted his frustrated patient with the laces.

"I must have new clothes made, without such laces and ties," Maitimo sighed in resignation. "I will not have anyone wasting their time dressing me each day."

"I have already commissioned the tailoring of new clothes for you, my lord," said Loméndur. "They shall be ready today. I hope you do not mind that I took the liberty."

"Thank you," Maitimo smiled. "You are forever thoughtful."

"You were also in need garments that fit you. You are much thinner than you were," he added, tying the laces of Maitimo's second boot. He tugged the fabric of Maitimo's breeches to prove his point and the waistband slid dangerously on Maitimo's thin hips.

"I see," Maitimo chuckled nervously, returning his pants to their proper place.

"I will bring your clothes after I have examined you."

"And then?" Maitimo chimed, grinning.

Loméndur laughed at Maitimo giddiness. "And then you are free of my care until the next time you find yourself in a regrettable situation."

When Loméndur had finished, he gestured toward the small worktable where he had set the tray of food. "If it pleases you, Lord, we shall begin to amend the immediate problem of your diminished weight."

Loméndur had brought simple fare: there was smoked fish from the lake, a quarter-loaf of warm bread, a few damsons, and a pitcher of well-watered wine for them to share. Loméndur and Maitimo knew each other well by this time and shared pleasant conversation that hour. Loméndur commented often on how well his patient looked, seeming quite pleased with his work. Yet, as their meal drew to a close, Maitimo became more and more distrait. He soon fell silent and grew thoughtful and troubled.

"My lord?" Loméndur inquired.

Maitimo sighed, carefully forming his words. "I will call my brothers together today and speak with them. They should know that I have given the High Kingship to Nolofinwë's house."

Six sons of Feanáro were seated around a long council-table that morning, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their eldest brother, their nerves alone making the warm air buzz. Several weeks had passed since any of them had travelled to the other side Lake Mithrim to visit Maitimo, and he had been in a sorry state then: skeletal and pale, aching from barely healed wounds and unable to walk. It had been too early then to tell how much he had been changed by his horrific ordeal. Any oddness in his behaviour could be dismissed as an effect of the fever, then, and a fever could change a man like any madness. None of them could say yet if their new High King would be able to bear the cold touch of iron...if he would quiver at the sight of fire or tremble in the dark like a like a lonesome child. The Noldor would not tolerate a craven King. Was his body maimed beyond aid? Could a man be King if he could not write or wield a blade? The most unsettling possibility remained unspoken amongst the brothers: Moringotto had made thralls of even the hardiest of the Eldar, and Maitimo had suffered long under the Dark Vala's power. What if the Noldor were to be ruled by the veiled will of Moringotto?

"Do not worry for him, my brothers," said Makalaurë, who had seen Maitimo last. "Our Nelyo is the strongest of us all."

"You saw him not so long ago," said Carnistir. "You said then that he was changed, and would speak no more. Those are not encouraging words."

"I said Maitimo was changed, not damaged."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Ambarto, looking first to his twin and then to the others, said, "I agree that he is far hardier than we thought. We took him for dead when we heard he had been captured. Any of us would have died of his wounds alone. But there is fear and a great sadness about Russandol that I cannot put words to. It frightens me. I believe that he is no longer comparable to us. I fear to speak to him. I fear the worst."

Makalaurë stood to protest, but Tyelkormo only interjected calmly, "He is still our brother, no matter what has become of him. We must love him and care for him under any circumstances."

Ambarto stood suddenly and sending his chair clattering away from the table, his face painted with angry tears. "What right have you to say that?" he cried. "Findekáno was the only one who had the courage to go and save him, and we left him! It's our fault that he's like this – "

"Be still, Ambarto."

It was a vibrant and resonant tenor that spoke the command, quiet, yet without any hint of weakness and sharp as a clarion. Indeed, Ambarto did fall silent and stare in astonishment, as did the others. Maitimo stood still and allowed his siblings a few moments to appraise him. His long, red tresses were bound back by a single neat braid. His clothes were simple and fit him well, though this also exposed that he was not as healthily built as he once had been. His soft leather boots did not lace, but instead bore three metal clasps. All his clothing was fashioned as such, and could easily be manoeuvred with a single hand. Though the neck of his tunic was high, one could still catch a glimpse of an angry whip weal that crept past the hem.

"I will hear no more debate over this matter," said Maitimo firmly. "Yes, you left me to the tortures of Angamando, but I would not have tolerated anything else of you and you know it well. You did not bow to Moringotto's threats, and I am proud. Understand that what Findekáno did was rash. Had he been captured, he might well have betrayed every word that the Noldor guard." His face grew suddenly hard and he cast his gaze on each of his brothers in turn. "May the Valar help me; I would have yielded up all that I knew to lessen the pain they gave me if I could have ceased my screaming to speak.

"I owe Findekáno my gratitude, though, and so I dare not reprimand him. That work I have left to his father," he smiled, and his brothers, each quietly chuckling, relaxed slightly. Having spoken thus, Maitimo took his seat at the head of the table. "I feel that I must be forthcoming with what I must now impart to you. I have called you all together today to discuss a matter that concerns both our father and our people. It is my belief that our strife with the House of Nolofinwë will be ended only with the full concession of the House of Feanáro." He paused, gauging the reaction of his brothers. Tyelkormo, Carnistir, and Kurufinwë exchanged hurried glances, silently communicating. Saying nothing of this, Maitimo continued. "This began as a feud between brothers. It has become a feud between peoples. I will not suffer the Finwëans to be divided any longer. Moringotto will not hesitate to turn factions against factions and let us reap the corruption he instilled in us. He wants nothing more than to watch the Noldor fall to such jealousy and selfishness. We must put an end to his foul work."

"This is how you plan to defeat our Enemy?" Carnistir laughed after a long silence. "This is how you aspire to regain the Silmarils? By stripping the house of Feanáro of its power? Brother, you are not yourself. I should think Moringotto put these thoughts in your head that we might fall faster!"

"Those who speak thusly will prove to be his greatest tools, Carnistir." Maitimo was careful to keep his voice gentle, knowing how fragile his brother's temperament could be, at times.

"It is not practical," said Kurufinwë, masking his contempt better than his brother had. "We came to this land for our own battles. Why must we put our war in the hands of Nolofinwë's House? Our father did not wish them to fight this war. He would have had them stay in Valinor, where­­­­­­ they might have—"

"Feanáro had no such courtesy in mind," Maitimo stated. "He left his brother's host to suffer a shameful return to Tirion or to die in Araman. Our father was not evil, but he was not in his right mind when these things came to pass. Furthermore, the issue at hand is not what might have been, but what shall be. Nolofinwë and his House followed us here and crossed the Helcaraxë to do so. We may sometimes forget that Moringotto slaughtered Lord Nolofinwë's father just as he slaughtered ours. This is his war as much as it mine."

"Tell me, brother," said Carnistir, looking intently at the cup of wine in his hand, "is this what has kept you in such close conference with our cousin Findekáno this past week? Rumour has it he has not let you leave his sight."

"Findekáno endured much to save me," Maitimo countered. "He had nothing but my thanks for continuing to help me in my recovery."

Disinterested in his brother's argument, Carnistir took a sip of wine, and then articulated, "Did you plan this with him?"

"No, I did not. I informed him of my decision, just as I am informing you now."

"You had no right to—"

"As High King, I had every right. Justly or not, I was the High King of the Noldor, and I was entitled to name an heir and relinquish my post as I saw fit. Remember, brothers. I was twenty years old when Mother birthed the eldest of you. I had a part in raising each of you. I know more of your hearts than you may think, and, with scarce few exceptions, you could not have led this people to anything but ruin. It is a failing most common in our family. I would have done it. Father would have done it, and so I have turned to Lord Nolofinwë. There is less blood on his hands than stains ours."

"You know, big brother," Carnistir smiled sarcastically, "I'll never forget the time Father caught you kissing your dear cousin at Finwë's banquet. The mark of his hand stained you pretty face for a week. Are you certain that your…personal affections have not made this choice for you?"

"I will not lie to you," Maitimo said bluntly. "I hold an inappropriate affection for him, and he returns it wholly. I love him, I would give my life for him, and I have given him both my heart and body. These things are mine to give. But know now that, like you, I do not allow love to affect my judgement."

"That is blasphemy, Maitimo," Carnistir declared, turning his hard gaze upon him. "How can you do this? You bring shame upon your kin, upon you brothers!"

"My brothers helped to burn the ships at Losgar that could have saved Nolofinwë's people! They bring shame upon themselves." Maitimo returned Carnistir's look with an intensity the younger could not match. Carnistir narrowed his eyes angrily, but cast them down nonetheless. "Let us not be burdened with the crimes of others, nor blame them for our crimes. We are no longer children of Valinor. I do not think we shall ever see our home again. Let us each own the sins we have committed, and be at peace."

Carnistir was fuming. He looked as if he would surely strike his brother, but then Curufinwë reached up from his seat and took a gentle hold on his sibling's wrist. Surprised, Carnistir looked down questioningly.

"Let Maitimo go his own way," Curufinwë said. "These are hard times. If he has found a love that may ease his hardship, then he should not be denied."

Both Maitimo and Carnistir were silent, neither wholly trusting this uncharacteristic display. Finally, Maitimo nodded his thanks and took his seat again. As he passed his brother, Carnistir sneered caustically, "I am sorry to hear we have lost our voice of reason."

"Curufinwë was right," Makalaurë confirmed quietly. "No matter what we believe, Maitimo knows what he does. We should trust him to be the judge of his own actions, for he is the eldest and wisest of us. Let us be glad for his fortune. We certainly know how much Findekáno cares for him." Makalaurë turned and looked directly at Maitimo. "I speak for all my brothers when I say that whatever comfort and healing you may find in another, you deserve wholly. We are lucky that you are with us today, after so many trials. You have my blessings, Maitimo."

"And ours," said Ambarto, speaking for Ambarusso as well, who smiled encouragingly.

"You have my blessings, brother," Curufinwë added. "I do not understand your choice, and I am against your choice regarding the kingship, but I know your need, and I will not stand in your way."

"Nor will I," said Tyelkormo.

Carnistir studied the table intently. He could not bring himself to meet Maitimo's eyes. "You will keep this a secret?"

"Yes," Maitimo replied. "Our uncle forbade otherwise."

"Then he is wiser than I give him credit for," Carnistir sighed. His eyes were cold. "What you do, Maitimo, is a mistake. It will destroy you one day. I have no doubt of that. But I shall tolerate your choices. You are my brother, and I cannot deprive you of my love."

"You have my thanks, brothers," said Maitimo, and then, slowly, a smile crept across his face. "I have missed you all."

Makalaurë reached out to his brother and laid his hand on his shoulder. "We are glad to have you back, Nelyo."

Maitimo dined with his brothers that night, and their talk was light and merry. A smile looked out of place on Maitimo's indurated face, but he bore it nonetheless. His skin was browner and freckled after so long exposed to the harsh Sun, and his hair was still course and uneven. A few pink scars marred his face. His bones were visible though his garments. And of course, his truncated right arm still hung close to his body in a sling. Yet somehow, his happiness was so plentiful that night that he seemed uncommonly beautiful.

As the evening drew on, they moved from the table to sit on the ground around the fire, their cloaks spread beneath them. They had dismissed all the servants and pages, and the twins had insisted that they be allowed to fetch a barrel of the wine that Curufinwë had brewed in Valinor. Soon, the brothers were jovially reminiscing on past times, telling stories of an increasingly inappropriate nature as the hours passed. Their laughter flowed as freely as their drink, and all the brothers could see that it healed Maitimo better than any physician's care.

Laughing as the twins bickered over the details of an anecdote, Makalaurë lay back on the spread cloaks and rested his head on Maitimo's outstretched thighs. "We ought to call Findekáno here. It would make him glad to see you well enough to be drunk."

Maitimo laughed. There may have been a blush about the tips of his ears, but he held his drink far better than his younger brothers did. He held it well enough to retain his better judgement. "I do not think that would set well with—"

The twins abruptly ceased their good-natured argument as Ambarusso rose and interrupted his brother. "I'll fetch him," he called back as he stumbled out of the warm tent into the cold night air. With a few directions from guards, he found his cousin's tent and entered unannounced, chuckling absently as he tripped on one of Findekáno's garments which lay on the floor. Maitimo had thought it an awful idea to summon Findekáno at all. He had thought little more of sending his most intoxicated brother to wake him, but he had not considered the folly in sending one of the two who most resembled himself.

Ambarusso sat down on the edge of Findekáno's cot and shook him rudely. Upon waking and seeing the long tresses of red hair that fell against his face, he misunderstood the other Elf's intentions and, unfortunately, his identity. Responding to the eagerness he perceived, he took hold of Ambarusso and pulled him close, their lips meeting fiercely. Ambarusso opened his mouth compliantly and returned the intensity of the kiss. When Findekáno at last broke away for a breath, Ambarusso rose and wiped his mouth on his sleeve contentedly. "Maitimo wants to see you," he said, apparently unsurprised at Findekáno's sudden urge to make love to him.

A pitifully confused sound escaped Findekáno's lips. He sat up, unconsciously searching for his tunic. After a few more failed attempts to question his assailant, he sighed, "Which one are you? It's dark."

"I am Ambarusso. You thought I was Maitimo," he laughed.

"He told you?" Findekáno exclaimed.

"He told all of us. Come along," said Ambarusso as he exited the tent.

Findekáno followed his cousin to the tent where Maitimo and his brother's sat. Ambarto was spinning an incriminating tale about his twin. Findekáno caught Carnistir's gaze as the Elf glanced upward with barely masked disdain. Maitimo sat nearby with Makalaurë's head in his lap and an apologetic expression that Findekáno felt was much deserved. Curufinwë rose and poured a cup of wine for his young cousin. "Much happiness, to you both," he smiled, clasping his younger cousin's hand briefly before reclaiming his seat.

Smiling politely, Findekáno accepted the drink and went to sit beside Maitimo. He leaned close to his lover's ear and said quietly, "Not an hour ago, my father told me that no one was to know of us."

"It is in their interest to say nothing of it," Maitimo whispered back. "My brothers will keep our secret.

"You know my father will not approve," Findekáno intoned, and then started as Makalaurë reached up and patted his arm.

"Then we shall say nothing to your father. You are safe with us, cousin."

"Though I do not feel so safe with you!" Ambarusso laughed, making Findekáno blush.

"What did he do?" asked Maitimo.

"Forced himself on me!" Ambarusso explained, and then proceeded to relate the mishap to the others. As he did, Maitimo turned to Findekáno with a bemused expression.

"I wish now that I had fetched you myself. We would not have returned so soon."

"I did not think you were ready yet. I thought it might—"

"You thought I would be frightened?" Maitimo finished, and then brought his lips closer to the reddened tip of Findekáno's ear. "You don't frighten me."

Findekáno looked as shocked at Maitimo's tone as only the most innocent virgin might. Shifting uncomfortably, he downed to cup of wine Curufinwë had given him and sorely wished he had another. Maitimo nudged Makalaurë's shoulder. "Excuse us brothers. I must retire," he said, rising and stretching tiredly.

"Must you take our cousin too?" Ambarto asked. "He arrived only moments ago."

"I'm sure he's tired as well," said Ambarusso. "I did drag him from his bed. Come brother, we should take to our own beds. The hour is late."

"Indeed it is," said Makalaurë standing on less than steady feet. "And I have had enough wine, I think. Shall I put out the torches, or will the three of you stay a while longer?"

Curufinwë tipped the wine barrel slightly, testing its weight. "I believe we shall. There is a bit of wine left, and we are not so drunken as to let it go stale," he smiled, and watched the others leave. When they had all gone, he took their three cups and filled them, then handed one to each of his brothers. Carnistir made no move to accept it.

"Your wine tastes no better than piss, brother," he sneered. "What madness has taken you? Will you let him degrade our name?"

"Be silent, little brother," Tyelkormo reprimanded gently, accepting his cup from his brother. "I think our Curufinwë has a plan."

"I need no plan," Curufinwë corrected. "Maitimo has ensured that the Kingship will pass to us in due time."

Hearing this, Carnistir turned, scrutinising Curufinwë, and then took his cup in concession. He sat and listened.

"We three know that our eldest brother is a romantic. He is of fair form even now. Ladies of Valinor always threw themselves at his feet, and, as I recall, he returned home with plans to marry a new one each month. Considering how hard he was searching, it was only a matter of time before he found true love. If he had taken a wife, children would not have been long in coming. Only in the event of one's death would the kingship pass to any of us. Of course, they would sire children soon enough, and all hope would be lost. I doubt we could survive this war long enough to see his line fail. But we are safe from that future, brothers. As long as he loves Findekáno, his line is ended."

"His line no longer matters!" Carnistir said unthinkingly.

"No," Curufinwë smiled. "But the line of Nolofinwë's eldest son matters greatly."

"You plan is still flawed," Curufinwë scowled. "The crown will pass to Turukáno."

"Turukáno is young," Curufinwë chuckled. "Give me an hour with him, and I will overthrow him."

"What of Makalaurë?"

"Makalaurë did not want the Kingship when he had it," Curufinwë shrugged. "He is no obstacle." Hearing no protest from his brothers, he concluded, "Have patience, brothers. We have my cunning and Tyelkormo's leadership. Carnistir, all we need for the completion of our plan is your absent conscience."

Carnistir considered this a moment. "Our greed is wrong," he said at last, thinking on Maitimo's words.

"We do not do this for greed," said Curufinwë. "We do it because we have not forgotten our father."

Carnistir nodded. "Then you have my help."

Maitimo and Findekáno had walked quickly back to Findekáno's tent, not wishing to grow cold. They spoke not a word between them as they entered. Findekáno stoked the fire in the braziers, and then helped Maitimo remove his sling, doublet, and tunic. Seeing Maitimo's chest exposed to the golden firelight made him eager, and he hurriedly disrobed as Maitimo followed suit.

Naked, Maitimo laid back onto the cot and let Findekáno straddle his hips. "I love you," he gasped, and then fell silent.

Many hours passed. Findekáno and Maitimo made love to one another until all the stars were gone from the sky, fleeing from dawn. Kissing him once more, Findekáno rolled off Maitimo and gathered him into his arms. Findekáno smiled, watching Maitimo appreciatively trace a finger over the contours of his bicep. Burying his face in his lover's red hair, Findekáno began to drift to sleep. "I am sorry I doubted your brothers."

Maitimo pressed back against Findekáno's warm body, sighing contentedly. "So am I."


End file.
